


Little Bit Drunk

by LittleDarkling



Category: Iron Man (Movies)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-14
Updated: 2012-08-14
Packaged: 2017-11-12 04:20:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/486612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleDarkling/pseuds/LittleDarkling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>PWP. No point at all. Just felt like writing some James/Tony</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Bit Drunk

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Characters belong to Marvel. This is a work of fan love. No infringement intended, no profit made.

 

 

 

James might be a little drunk. He doesn’t usually indulge at these affairs, but Tony had been insistent he try whatever rare vintage wine with a long and unpronounceable name the casino had ordered specially for the Stark Charity Benefit. Insistent meaning he’d continually shoved a glass under James’s nose until the older man agreed to try it under the condition that Tony annoy someone else for an hour. He doesn’t even like wine. Nevertheless, he is a bit drunk and Tony…is slightly more so.

“You know what I want?” Tony slurs as he stumbles into the room, six thousand dollar jacket dragging on the plush white carpet. It slips from his fingers a few feet over the threshold and crumples in a pile on the floor. “I want some champagne.”

“Tony, no,” James mumbles, rubbing a hand over his face. “It’s late. You’ve got a press conference in the morning and you need some sleep.”

“I need some champagne.” Tony is already bumbling his way to the fridge. There’s not much point in arguing and James is in no condition to try. It’s just old habit, really. He falls down on the couch and lets his head loll back against the cushions. The sofa is butter soft, white Italian leather and incredibly comfortable. He thinks he could just as easily sleep here as in one of the four lavish bedrooms in the penthouse. James doesn’t hear Tony join him, and were he sober, he might have jumped at the sudden close proximity of the younger man’s voice.

“Don’t fall asleep on me.” This command is emphasized by a long finger poking roughly at his cheek. James grumbles, batting Tony’s hand away.

“Nghhh…Not asleep,” he mumbles petulantly, dark eyes dragging open. Tony is standing over him, newly acquired bottle of champagne in his hand. A thin, white patina of frost covers the dark glass, wisps of mist rising from it.

“Here. Hold this,” Tony mutters, shoving it at him. James grunts as the bottle collides with his abdomen. When he looks up, his friend is in the process of pulling off his shirt…or rather trying to. Unsuccessfully. Tony grunts in frustration, tugging at the fabric violently. He twists around and around, a ridiculous parody of a dog chasing its tail.

“How the fuck do I get this off?!” James sighs, catching the bottom of Tony’s shirt to keep him from twirling right into the coffee table.

“You gotta…should’ve taken off the tie and cufflinks first, genius,” he replies.

“Oh…” Tony lifts his wrist to his face to confirm he is indeed wearing cufflinks. He grins brightly at James. “See, that’s why you’re my favorite, Rhodey!” The older man raises an eyebrow.

“Because I remind you how to undress yourself?” Tony doesn’t answer as he finally manages to wrest free of the shirt, which promptly ends up on the floor. The undershirt is next to go, carelessly thrown somewhere in the general direction of window. Tony sighs impatiently as he starts to work open his pants. James thinks about picking it all up—the jacket too—because why does Tony have leave his shit all over the damn floor? There are six closets in this place. All it takes is a few seconds to put the clothes—wait. Why is Tony taking his clothes off?

“What are you doing?” he asks. Tony shoves both pants and boxers down in one entirely clumsy motion and half-kicks, half-stumbles out of them. James blinks. Oh. Naked. “Why do—Tony, what are you doing, man?” The question is completely ignored as Tony slides to his knees, moving between James’s splayed thighs and tugging at his belt. “Tony.”

“I want to suck you off,” he mutters bluntly. James struggles to sit up, but is stopped by the younger man’s strong hand clamping down on his thigh.

“You’re drunk,” he mumbles. “Mmmm…” He groans as Tony’s long, rough fingers stroke him through his boxers. “Tony…You…I can’t. Not—not right. You’re drunk.”

“So? Done it when I’m sober too. Negates the argument,” Tony replies dismissively. James could dispute that. He knows he could…if he was a bit more sober. Or at least a little less drunk? But it seems his capacity for debate has abandoned him and he slumps, boneless, into the soft, smooth leather.

“Attaboy, Rupert,” Tony purrs.

“Don’t call me ‘Rupert’,” he mumbles, the reprimand lost in a sharp groan as Tony’s hand wraps around his cock. The younger man smirks, nipping at James’s inner thigh before sinking his teeth into the sensitive flesh through the fabric. He yelps, nearly kneeing his friend in the chin.

“Ow! Stop that!” Tony draws back, looking entirely too pleased with himself. He presses his thumb into the bite as he leans in, licking a wet, sloppy stripe up the length of James’s cock. The older man exhales a sharp breath, free hand curling into a fist against the couch. Tony’s good at this, the teasing part. He’s good at everything, really, but this… Tony’s mouth sliding down over his cock splinters the remainder of that thought into utter incoherency. God, his mouth. Hot and slick, incredibly agile tongue curling around his length. Slow, sucking drag. His hips stutter off the couch, cock sliding deeper into Tony’s mouth.  
And Tony moans, as though it is James getting him off and not the other way around.

He looks down, forcing himself to keep his eyes open, because this…James loves to watch. Tony on his knees, lips stretched thin and hollowed cheeks flushed to bright red. Fucking hell, James shouldn’t think ‘beautiful’, shouldn’t think how good Tony looks at this very moment. Shouldn’t think about how easy it would be to keep him here like this. A few days. Months. The rest of their lives. All he’d have to do was ask. The younger man’s lips pull into an awkward smirk as though he knows exactly what his friend is thinking. His fingers brush Tony’s cheek, where the skin is pink and tight. Tony moans and James breaks. His head falls back against the cushions and he squeezes his eyes shut.

“Tony.” His hand tangles roughly in the younger man’s thick, dark hair. He immediately releases him when he realizes what he is doing, but Tony reaches up and catches his hand, placing it firmly back in his hair. And he gives in. Because he usually does when it’s Tony. James curls fingers into his friend’s hair, holding him still as he begins to thrust. It’s a slow, lazy rhythm, Tony relaxing his jaw and letting James take his pleasure. One large, warm hand slips under the older man's shirt to splay over his abdomen.

There’s someone moaning, a deep guttural sound and James is vaguely surprised to realize it’s him. His moans mingle with the filthy wet noises Tony is making. Never subtle. Not Tony’s style, but ohhh…yeah. Teeth and tongue and that mouth… His back arches, fingers tightening reflexively in Tony’s hair. So good, so good. He feels the reaching tendrils of intense pleasure pooling in his belly, the movement of his hips growing less controlled. The fingers in Tony’s hair grip and tug, gentleness briefly forgotten. The younger man arches into it, the vibration of his helpless groan driving up into James’s body, a hot flare of sensation. He wants this to last, but that isn’t going to happen. A jagged, sobbing breath rattles from his chest as he comes, fingers digging into Tony’s hair, fingernails scrapping along his scalp. Tony doesn’t pull back, he takes it all. The compulsive ripple of throat as he swallows around James’s cock heightens the pleasure to something brilliant and blinding that makes his back arch and his hips stutter as he rides out the tremors of orgasm.

Minutes. Minutes tick by. The sound of James’s breathing as he comes down seems deafening in the quiet of the penthouse. He sinks back into the leather, sated. A droplet of sweat trickles down the side of his face.

“T-Tony…” he gasps quietly. The younger man continues to tease even after he has finished, tongue flicking lightly at the sensitive skin. James exhales softly, idly carding his fingers through Tony’s hair as languid waves of pleasure wash over him.

In a word, Damn. He lets his hand slide down to the back of Tony’s neck, stroking the skin. The younger man sits back on his heels. Just looking at him is enough to make James’s cock twitch, despite his recent orgasm. His hair is beautifully disheveled, sticking up at odd angles. His lips are bruised and swollen, red and shiny slick. They pull into a bright grin at James’s half-lidded, dazed expression.

“Did you I break your brain?” he asks, taking back the champagne bottle James had forgotten he was still clutching.

“Shuddup,” he grumbles. Tony takes a swig of the champagne and promptly spits it out.

“It’s warm…” he mutters, looking at the bottle distastefully. James blinks dazedly as Tony corks the bottle and tosses it aside. He staggers up, nearly tumbling into James’s lap again. “Need a new one.”

“Tony…” James tries to force his sluggish muscles to obey him. At twelve hundred dollars a bottle, he can’t see the sense in opening up another just because the first has gone warm. Not that arguing sense has ever worked with Tony, but he feels his must. There was a time he was the voice of reason in this relationship. Although, apparently not tonight. And he’s started to get a bit frustrated with all his aborted attempts at trying to get Tony to stop being…well, Tony. This is why he never drinks. And this is exactly why the younger man tries to get him drunk. Damn it. How did he not see this?

Oh, right. Because he was drunk. Damn it. No more wine. Or champagne.

“Stark…” he says again, trying to force a more authoritative tone. The slur in his voice is not helping anything. He clears his throat. “Stark. No more—” The fundamental mistake he makes at this point is looking at Tony. Whatever argument James means to make dies pathetically in his throat as younger man turns, completely naked and beautiful, a bottle of champagne dangling carelessly from his hand as if it were a bottle of cheap beer. It’s so decadent, so hedonistic and so typically and gloriously Tony.

“You were saying?” Tony asks before taking a heady swig from the sweating bottle. James groans softly.

“I…I don’t remember,” he replies as Tony stumbles his way back to him and carelessly straddles his lap, pushing James into the cushions. The older man’s arms automatically move to surround his lean waist as Tony’s weight settles against him. Tony’s hard cock pushes insistently at his thigh as he squirms in his lap. The heat of the arc reactor thrums against James’s chest, hotter than the flesh that surrounds it.

“Hmm, Tony…” he murmurs, inhaling the scent of sweat, expensive cologne, hair gel, musk. The younger man rests his forehead against James’s, sighing in contentment.

“You looked good tonight,” he whispers.

“Thanks. You didn’t look bad yourself.”

“I looked fucking incredible,” Tony replies as he leans in to kiss James, slow and lazy. The taste of Tony, champagne and himself. Rough rasp of facial hair. James groans softly, licking into the sleek heat, one hand sliding behind Tony’s head and fingers curling into the other man’s hair.

When Tony draws back, lips shiny and slick, all he can utter is,

“Fuck.” James chuckles, dragging his hand down his friend’s arm idly. Tony is looking at him contemplatively and it makes him instantly suspicious. That look is usually the precursor to something James isn’t going to like. Either some completely reckless idea or an equally reckless act that will somehow conclude with James trying to placate police officers, federal agents and once, memorably, the bodyguards for the Australian ambassador. (Tony was banned from Australia for a year over that little misunderstanding. Seriously, he would be arrested on sight, was what James was told.)

“What?” he asks warily. Tony tilts his head in that way that makes him look like a big damn bird.

“How come you never ask me for anything?” he questions suddenly.

“What do you mean?”

“I have all this money,” he mumbles, idly toying with James’s dogtags. “You never ask. Most people…would.” James’s dark eyes narrow in anger and he pushes Tony back as the younger man leans in for a kiss.

“Ask you for money?” he growls. “I’m not a whore.” Tony has the gall to look perplexed, like James is the weird one for making that leap.

“No! Rhodey, I know that,” he whispers. “You’re not ever…you’re the only one. It’s just…you never let me give you anything. Never ask for anything. And even Pepper asks sometimes, you know? She’ll ask for a new planner or something stupid like that, but at least she asks. I could give you…” He gestures carelessly. “Anything you want. Anything in the world you want.” James sighs, rolling his eyes as Tony’s fingers curl around the tags.

“I’ll deny ever saying this if you ask me later.” He slides a hand behind Tony’s neck, drawing the younger man down to him. He looks dazed and goofy and his soft brown eyes are focused on James’s mouth. “I’m serious, Tony. I’ll deny it.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I don’t ask for anything, because you are everything I want. Ok? You’re a stubborn, obnoxious,” He plucks the bottle from Tony’s hand. “Completely extravagant, irresponsible ass, but you’re the only one I have ever wanted.” He half expects Tony to make some stupid joke, so it comes as a pleasant surprise when he smiles instead and it’s warm and genuine and maybe a little surprised. He curls himself into James with a kind of childish vulnerability, pressing his face into the older man’s neck. James’s hand comes to rest on his back, fingers grazing the ridged line of his spine that is made more prominent by the awkwardness of his posture.

He feels Tony’s breath, hot and moist against his skin, the fingers curling tight into the collar of his shirt. He’s had enough experience to know when Tony is starting to think too much, to slip into one of his darker moods, half convinced he doesn’t deserve James’s devotion or Pepper’s loyalty. Thankfully, an inebriated Tony Stark is usually an easily distracted Tony Stark.

“You haven’t called me a single pet name all night,” he murmurs. Tony smiles against his neck.

“Sorry about that, Cupcake.”

“I didn’t say start.”

“Hmm…” James turns his head, Tony’s hair brushing his cheek.

“Hey. You gonna fall asleep on me?” Tony raises his head, looking at the older man with an impish, if not thoroughly filthy smile.

“Bedroom,” he says. He climbs off James’s lap clumsily, only managing not to fall flat on his face because James doesn’t let go of his arm until both feet are solidly on the ground.

As soon as James stands Tony’s mouth collides with his and his hands are tugging at James’s clothes. The older man sighs as those rough, callused hands make contact with his bare skin.

Tony won’t release him and it’s a bit of the blind leading the blind. James’s trousers end up around his ankles. It’s not a great many steps from there before he trips over the tangled pants and falls back, landing flat on his back on the carpet. (At least he missed the coffee table.) Tony drops to his knees, crawling over him, nipping at every bit of dark skin exposed to him.

So much for the bedroom.

James groans as Tony latches onto the tender skin of his throat, biting hard enough to bruise. He lets his hands slide down over Tony’s back, fingertips tracing the familiar network of scars, the smooth, unmarred skin between them. Tony mutters another obscenity as he drags his tongue over the older man’s throat and chin, messy and slick. James is hard again, his cock rubbing against Tony’s stomach. His hands slide down to Tony’s ass, fingers seizing and digging into the firm muscle. The younger man bucks against him, a pleased little groan whispering against James’s lips as ruts against his friend’s leaner body, messy and overeager.

They’re not kissing so much as panting into each other’s mouths, Tony’s hips thrusting frantically against his own, mindless of anything but finding completion. James clings to him, tangling his legs with Tony’s. The slide of slick skin, the heat of arc reactor, the scent of Tony’s flesh and the taste of him in every breath. His skin prickles with heat. Too much and James muffles a raspy plea against Tony’s lips.

“Rhodey. Fuck. Rhodey…” Tony whispers and he’s coming, wet heat splattering the older man’s skin. James’s own climax hits him like a blow to the gut, sharp and sudden and he spills between them with wordless cry.

They’re both gasping, both sweat drenched and filthy. Tony is slumped on top of him, hands skittering across slick, hot skin. He’s still murmuring his name in endless reverent litany. James smiles stroking the back of Tony’s neck gently.

“I love you,” he mumbles. Another thing he’ll deny saying if push comes to shove, but Tony knows anyway. Tony says nothing, but mouths his response into James’s shoulder, his chin and finally his lips.

 

That’s how Pepper finds them the next morning. In the mess of Tony’s hotel room with two open nearly-full bottles of champagne and clothes strewn everywhere. The heroes are curled together on the floor, James on his back and Tony half on top of him, their long limbs tangled and both snoring to wake the dead. Deciding the press can wait, she goes to pull the comforter from the bed and throws it over them before departing…though not without first putting the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign on the door.

 

End


End file.
